She looked at him, as if to make sure he wasn’t bored by her analysis. He wasn’t remotely bored. He was beyond interested. He was prepared to listen to her all afternoon-at least until the kids started piling in.

“Are you in town for long?” he asked.

“Just the summer. I used to live here when I was a little girl. I just came back…to see what I remembered.”

“Bring your husband and kids with you?”

She wagged a finger at him. “You’re good.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You already looked, so you know I don’t have a wedding ring. But I’m only here for eight weeks-for absolute sure, not a minute longer. And I think you’ll find, after a few days, that I’m not a friend you’ll want to have.”

“Come again?”

“I strongly suspect people won’t appreciate my being in town. Still. Unless you ask me not to, I’ll be back for more ice cream.” She stood up, pulled the strap of her purse to her shoulder. “Can I ask your name?”

“You bet, cher. Griff Branchard.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “So it’s yours? Griff’s Secret?”

“All mine. And I’m easy to find, so when you get the urge the next time-well, the next one’s on me.” He couldn’t imagine her doing anything that would offend people. Her eyes were as honest as sunshine; the way she walked and moved was characteristic of a woman easy within herself. Except for the greed and lust thing of course, but that was about temptation. “And you are…?”

“Lily. Lily Campbell.”

“You’re welcome here any time. Might as well know now that I’m real likely to ask you to dinner one of these days.”

“I won’t hold you to it,” she promised him, and with a smile, aimed for the door.

He almost followed her out, wanting to ask a few more questions-she’d raised more curiosity and interest than he could simply let go of-but then Jason showed up from the back room. Jason was scruffy and scrawny and looked chronically underfed. The kid worked harder than a dog, never back talked, never looked up if he had a choice. The shiner on his right eye was new since yesterday, and he was walking too careful, like something hurt out of sight.

Griff turned away from her and aimed for the kid. The stranger was pretty and puzzling and appealing, but when push came down to shove…well, there just wasn’t a choice. The kids had to come first.

By the time he had a chance to glance back, Lily Campbell was already out the door and had disappeared from sight. But he knew damn well he’d track her down and find out the story before another full day passed.


Recharged and renewed, Lily felt as if she’d gotten her pluck back. Even heading outside into the furnace heat and humidity didn’t dent her determination this time. She jogged across the last street and headed up the steps to the old, redbrick police station. Only then did her heartbeat catch up with her, and she had to suck in a gulp of air.

She’d felt alone before. She’d been alone before. When it came down to it, she’d felt alone ever since she was eight years old. Her two sisters meant the world to her…but this was different. Either they didn’t remember the fire, or they didn’t remember the tragic events of that long ago night the way she did.

She was tired of being haunted.

Quietly, she pulled open the door. The view inside might not be familiar, but it seemed triter than truth, nothing unexpected. Likely, every small-town police department had a similar long counter, a range of battered gray desks, linoleum that was always going to look scuffed. The place smelled vaguely of disinfectant and perspiration.

“Yeah, honey, what do you need?” The uniformed woman behind the counter had amazingly bleached hair, old eyes, and a printed tag that read Martha. Even though she looked buried in paperwork to the gills, she took the time to offer Lily a patient smile.

“Hello. I…well, I don’t know who the sheriff is now, but I was hoping to talk to whoever may have replaced Herman Conner-”

“Chief Conner’s right here, honey, nobody’s likely to replace him until he gets around to retiring…which he said he was gonna do five years ago and still hasn’t. Chief,” she hollered, “pretty lady’s here to see you.”

“I’ve tole you and tole you, not to shout like I’m working for you. You buzz the phone or you come here to get m-”

Lily never expected to recognize him-and heaven knew, he’d aged-but one look and she was transported back in time. The sheriff probably never noticed her that night, but her memories were mirror-clear.

She and her sisters had been huddled on the curb; someone had dropped a scratchy blanket over all of them, but still they all shook. The sheriff’s face had been backlit by fire as he was talking to the firemen. The sirens, the heat, the cold, the fear, the smoke-Lily remembered every taste, sound, texture. She wished she didn’t. Her sisters had been mute like her, in shock like her. Cate, the oldest, had an arm tucked around Lily. Sophie, the youngest, was crying her heart out.

And Lily couldn’t stop looking at the sheriff’s face, because she’d identified him as the one adult who could give them some hope. Herman Conner was skinny as a blade back then-sharp nose, sharp bones, a fast, sharp decision-maker-some said impulsive. Some said, once he judged you on the wrong side, he never forgot. Everybody said he could make a body jump when he got riled up.

That long-ago night she’d kept fiercely trying to hear, kept hoping he’d make everyone jump this time. She wanted him to get her mom and dad out of that fire. She wanted him to do what sheriffs do. Make things better. Make them right.

Instead, he pulled one fireman aside-closer to the girls by accident; he was trying to get away from that madhouse noise near the fire truck. “Look,” he said. “I don’t see a reason to run too deep an investigation-”

“There’s a lot of damage. A lot of-” Lily could see the fireman answering, arguing, looking unhappy, but she couldn’t hear most of the conversation. The sheriff’s voice had been closer and clearer.

“I know. I see. But we all know Campbell lost his job. Been what you call despondent. Three girls to support, no money coming in. I know he’d never have done nothing to hurt his family by intention. But I can believe a fire intended to get some insurance money got out of control.”

“Herman, I agree that that’s possible.” The old fireman pulled off his helmet, wiped a river of sweat from his brow. “But unless we investigate, I won’t have a clue how that fire started.”

“There’s only one likely reason. That’s all I’m saying. And I don’t want to hurt those girls more they’re already hurt. You hear me? There’ll be a cloud over their father’s reputation as it is. You want to make that worse?”

“No, ’course I don’t…”

Lily couldn’t remember much else, but looking at Herman Conner now brought back that night, like being slapped with the heat and the loss all over again.

He might be twenty years older, but he was still tall and lean, still just as sharp-edged. He’d lost half his hair, and the eyes looked baggy and tired. When he barged out of the office and caught sight of her, his face turned pale under his ruddy tan.

“Sheriff Conner…” She stepped forward. “You have no reason to remember me, but I’m Lily-”

“Lily Campbell. And of course I remember you. You were the middle one with the big eyes. Never thought I’d see any of you girls in this town again.”

Her polite smile froze. She remembered Pecan Valley as everyone being kind, with a lot of “honeys” and “ma’ams” and “bless her hearts” in drawling, liquid voices. Herman’s tone wasn’t harsh, just stiffer than starch.

“I wondered if you could spare me a few minutes,” she said.

“Why sure. Got a mighty busy morning, but I’d always spare the time for a pretty girl, bless your heart, honey.”

There was the old-fashioned Southern flattery she remembered; yet somehow, she felt increasingly uneasy as he motioned her into his office. Office was a nomenclature. The room had waist-high walls, with windows on three sides facing the central, open space. No private conversation was possible here. Herman hitched his belt and then plunked down behind his battle-scarred desk when she took the only spare seat.

She came immediately to the point. “I wonder if you still have the investigation record of the fire when my parents died.”

“Aw, honey. I was afraid you were here for something like that. Sweetheart, it’s foolishness. Your daddy was a good man. When the mill closed, he just lost his way, sank into whatcha call a depression, a serious depression. He adored you girls, you must know that. And your mama. He would never have done anything to hurt you, not deliberately.”

“I believe that, too,” she said. “But I’d still like to see the report from the fire.”

“Well, the investigation report is public. I’m sure you know that. But I think it’s a bad idea for you to go digging there, honey. There’s nothing to gain. Nothing to know. We all knew what happened. Your daddy was desperate. Didn’t know how he was going to support you girls and your mama. There wasn’t a job to be had for quite a while, after the mill closed. What we think-what we all believed at the time-was that he set a fire for the insurance money. Only, he just didn’t know much about accelerants, didn’t know how or when such a fire could get out of hand.” The sheriff leaned back as if relaxed for the first time all day. “We all felt bad. The whole town. And he died trying to save you girls, you know.”

“I know.” For an instant, the memory gripped her, the heat and choking smoke, her dad carrying each of the girls. The second-story drop. The firemen below. They were getting hoses and ladders and such, but that was all too late. She was the last one out the window, unwilling to let go of her dad, unwilling to leave him. Then the drop into the dark night, the hard thump into the fireman’s arms, and then…